


Scar Wars

by zombiechick



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiechick/pseuds/zombiechick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artie and Claudia get into a scar comparing competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar Wars

Artie howled with pain when he pulled a calf muscle while sprinting down the spiral staircase in order to investigate the screams from the lower office. He arrived at his desk to find Claudia doubled over, cradling her right hand against her stomach, and chanting, “Owie, owie, owie, owie.”

A quick look told him there wasn’t any large pool of blood or a dismembered limb on his Oriental rug. “Wha, wha, what’s the problem?” he panted, while savagely massaging his aching calf muscle that felt as though it was made of wood.

Claudia looked up, and Artie stepped back, when he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. She held out her hand for inspection, “I cut myself,” she told him and nodded with her head, “on the filing cabinet.”

Artie made a little concerned noise, and took Claudia’s hands in his own. “You’re going to have to let me see it, kiddo,” he told her gently.

Claudia closed her eyes tightly, “Okay, but I don’t wanna look,” she told him.

Artie smiled gently, “I won’t make you look,” he told her. 

She released her wounded hand into Artie’s grasp, and waited for the verdict. “Do we need to call Vanessa?” she asked. The answering silence worried her; she opened her eyes to find that the lack of response was due to the fact that Artie was laughing silently. “Hey, hey, hey,” she chastised, “woman in pain here.”

Artie nodded his head up the staircase, “Okay, okay,” he hiccupped with laughter, “sorry, really, I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “I’ve got some band aids up there,” he informed her. 

Claudia took her hand back and looked at the gash that ran the length of one knuckle on her second finger, “Band aid?” she asked. “But, don’t I need stitches?”

“Stitch, maybe,” Artie chuckled, “as in the singular.” 

Claudia harrumphed at him, “Well, good then; not like I need another scar.”

Artie gave her a once over, his eyebrow cocked in disbelief, “What scars?” he asked. 

“Hey,” Claudia said sharply, “I’ve got plenty, Old Man.”

Artie crossed his arms, “Prove it.” 

She thrust her right hand into his face, and pointed her thumb directly at his eye, “Ten years old, helping foster mom to make chili, cut the tip of my thumb off,” she said proudly.

Artie squinted theatrically, “Well, I guess I can see something there.”

“Hey!” Claudia snarked, and took her hand back to examine her thumb.

“But, you wanna see a scar? Behold!” Artie thrust his left hand into Claudia’s face; palm up, with his thumb pointing at his ring finger, “You’ve heard of Sweeny Todd, right? A pair of his scissors took off my finger; as in all the way off, as in had to be grafted back on!”

“Sick!” Claudia sneered, “And I don’t mean the ‘cool’ sick; I mean gross!” 

Artie gave her a smug grin, “So, top that!”

“Well,” Claudia considered, “I’ve never actually had something detached from my bod. However,” she pulled up her sleeve with a small flourish, and pointed at a thin scar that ran halfway up her forearm, “Compound fracture from being a little daredevil on the monkey bars; age nine. Jumped from the top onto the slide structure and didn’t quite make it.” 

Artie’s lip lifted in a sneer of distaste and he clutched his stomach, “Compound fracture?”

“Woot woot!” Claudia cheered. “Extra points for making the old man nauseous.”

Artie held her arm tenderly, “What made you want to do that?” he asked softly. 

“First day at a new school. Gotta show your stuff if you want to make friends, and let people know that they shouldn’t mess with ya,” Claudia said with a proud tilt to her chin. She cleared her throat when Artie gave her a sad little smile, “Being a foster kid is tough sometimes.”

“Being an agent can be tough too,” he informed her, “and, at times, even a little embarrassing.” He lifted his right sleeve and quickly rolled it up to his shoulder. “See that?” he asked pointing at an oddly colored patch of skin on the inside of his upper arm.

Claudia took a closer look, “Is that shaped like…”

“Tweety Bird,” Artie finished for her. “That’s what I got when I recovered Norman Collins’, better known as Sailor Jerry, first set of tattoo needles; they attacked me,” he said with a slight pout. 

“Well,” Claudia said as she sat down, “here’s something for the embarrassment file; more evidence of my misspent youth.” She lifted her pant leg and then straightened her leg so that Artie could see a patch, the size of a dollar bill, on her calf. “Go ahead, feel it,” she invited.

Artie leaned toward her bare leg, “Uuhhh,” he swallowed nervously, “I’ll pass.”

Claudia drew her hand along the slightly bumpy patch of skin, “Feels a little like a cheese grater got me,” she said proudly. “Grinding a rail outside the school; age eleven.”

Artie smiled at the mental image of Claudia as a young skater chick, “Not bad, not bad, however,” he crouched down on the floor with a muffled grunt and lifted his own pant leg. Claudia laughed out loud at his brown, argyle, sock. He shot her a glare before continuing, “Retrieving shackles from the slave ship Amistad. They attached themselves to my ankle and drug me across the plaza in front of the museum; tried to drown me in the decorative fountain.”

Claudia gulped audibly, and reconsidered her apprenticeship for half a second, “Okay, okay, so you’ve almost died like a million times, right? But,” she lifted her shirt off her lean belly and Artie felt the back of his neck heat up noticeably and small flutterings of desire dance around in his stomach,“I had to go under the knife. Appendix burst,” she made an exploding gesture with her free hand, “almost didn’t make it,” she finished smugly.

Artie just barely stopped himself from reaching out to trace the half moon shaped scar on Claudia’s left side. He knew he was staring, open mouthed, but couldn’t seem to move. He watched Claudia’s stomach quiver slightly as she laughed. “I take it, by your silence, that I am victorious?” she asked.

Artie gave his head a vicious shake, to clear his mind, and stood up, “Appendicitus?” he asked, “I get that once a year; it’s pretty pedestrian, really. You call that pretty little thing a scar?! I believe I have the winning point right here,” he unzipped his trousers, and gave a mighty tug to open his brown, leather, belt. 

Claudia grinned at Artie, and then started laughing hysterically at the look of horror that suddenly suffused his face. “Are those duckies on your boxers?” 

Artie whimpered as, blushing, he suddenly realizing what he was doing. He pulled his pants back together, did a quick about face, and ran out of the room. Claudia’s peals of laughter followed him all the way back up the spiral staircase.


End file.
